


In Ada's Arms

by J_Flattermann



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Flattermann/pseuds/J_Flattermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Ada's Arms</p><p>Pairing: Thranduil, Legolas, a little orphaned Silvan elf girl, a nursemaid, Oropher and Thranduil's wife mentioned.<br/>Genre: Gen<br/>Rating: G / PG for mentioned death.<br/>Word Count: 11,130<br/>Disclaimer: Pure Fiction. It's Tolkien's world not mine.<br/>Summary: Teething Legolas needs his Ada and his Ada reminisce on the then and now whilst spending a night awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Ada's Arms

[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/j_flattermann/24717888/1282446/1282446_original.jpg)

 

 

He had been up half of the night and until a moment ago had rocked his ion in his arms whilst pacing the room. The little one had been restless and crying but now the little head rested heavy against his shoulders and the baby’s back moved with the regular breathing of a heavy sleeper.

He’s teething, the nurse had said and promised to bring a certain root for the little one to gnaw to ease the itch and pain accompanying the teething process. The remedy would arrive with the nurse’s return in the morning.  
She also had warned him that his little Greenleaf could be restless and crying often during this phase. As if prophesied the baby had been crying all night and fearing that his cries would keep the household awake, he had spent the time with the little boy in his arms, soothing him to his best abilities.

Now that the baby finally had fallen asleep he could put him back into his crib. However, Thranduil hesitated. Feeling the small, warm body on his chest and the soft thumbing of the baby’s heart combined with the rhythmical breathing moves of the tiny body settled his own raw nerves and restless mind, calmed him.

The past weeks had been very difficult when he and his small band of surviving people had been wandering homeless and only now that they had found a place to settle had begun with the works for their new home. For the past few days at least they had a roof over their heads, a shelter. Life slowly began to normalise. At least so he hoped.

How different life had been, his people's and his very own, how joyful. He hardly could believe that this had been only a few years ago. It appeared an eternity to him now.

Only a few years back he had been a beloved son and husband; a father to be. Adored by his wife as much as he had adored her and beloved by his father, who had given him every support all through his life. They, his ada and he, had always been very close.  
Thranduil had no memory of his mother but the fondest of his father. His childhood had been such a happy and carefree one. His father assuring his son never to get the feeling something was amiss.  
His first years in Doriath had been so happy. Only when he reached his teenage years the shadow fell over the enchanted realm and saw him and his father fleeing the ruins of what once had been his happy home.  
He had been old enough to recognise the treachery of the dwarves and to experience the horror of the Battle of the Thousand Caves.  
He had seen Mablung of the Heavy Hand slain by the marauding dwarves just before his father had snatched him away and fled with that handful of Sindar that helped founding their new realm and home in Amon Lanc.

How much had he admired his father’s thrive, Oropher who never gave up, always strove to find a better future for his own. His father’s endless wealth of ideas and wisdom; like a sponge he had tried so hard to capture and preserve all these qualities he saw in his ada, hoping they would settle and grow in himself.

It all had begun so well, seemed so perfect. His father had built a beautiful city in the South of Eryn Galen. The Silvan people who dwelled in this realm had been full of admiration. The same kind of admiration he always had felt towards his own ada. Shortly after their arrival and the creation of Amon Lanc his father had been asked to become the king of the realm.

He had become a prince. Still he knew that when the beautiful silvan maiden had fallen for him, she hadn’t done so because he was a prince.  
To this day he wondered that his wooing had been excepted for she had had many suitors.  
After a brief courtship she had agreed to marry him and they had done so.  
Soon his beautiful wife had told him about her pregnancy and he remembered how for weeks he had walked around with a silly grin on his face. All the time he had showered her with presents and courted her, cherishing her very presence.  
His father too had been beaming upon the news that he was soon to be a grand-father.

The little one stirred in his arms and he adjusted his shoulder and arms to accommodate, make his ion a little more comfortable.  
There was a deep sigh coming from the child before he settled again in his ada’s arms.

It was this sigh filling Thranduil with warmth, joy and also a deeply set pain from love and worried care.  
He prayed he could be to the little leaf what his own father had been to him. He silently swore to himself to strive hard to always be there for his ion.

Crossing the room he slowly lowered himself on a settee, careful not to wake the sleeping baby in his arms. He finally settled down with his little Greenleaf safely resting on his broad chest as he leaned back against the armrest.

 _The poor little thing,_ He thought, _has to grow up without his mother’s loving care._  
He would make sure that her memory would always remain fresh in his little ion’s mind. He promised himself to always talk to him about her.  
At that moment it never occurred to him that he too had been without a mother and for a fact had never known her, never missed her.  
His father had provided all the love and care he had needed and he never felt he had missed out.

He shifted his weight slightly and the baby on his chest stirred until his own hand rested on the small back. His little leaf made small sleepy noises whilst the tiny hand firmly grabbed his shirt.

Again he mind drifted off, back in time. This time he remembered the war. Bad, hurtful memories they were. The thoughts of the fighting in Mordor and the terrors he had encountered there.  
Involuntarily a shiver ran through his body.  
There his father had been slain in the first onslaught against the enemy. There hadn’t been anything - he knew that now - that he could have done to prevented his father’s death.

His forehead knotted into a frown, remembering the remarks made by Celeborn, accusing his father’s actions as being to rash, too hasty, not waiting for Gil-Galad’s orders.  
Anger rose inside him. How dared he? Why should have his father taking orders from that dreaded Noldo? Kinsman of the slayers of his own kin.  
His father and he might not have been present when the sons of Fëanor slew Dior and hunted down his sons and daughter. They had heard of the unspeakable deeds nevertheless.  
The already strained relationship to Celeborn due to his marrying the Noldo woman, then had taken a turn to the worst and recently broken off completely.

Despite his father’s death and the loss of two-thirds of his army, he, Thranduil, had not abandoned his post.  
Only after the last battle had been fought and won by mere chance, had he gathered what remained of his diminished warriors and turned his back on war and on those so called ‘noble’ elves.

Ever since his conscience had been heavy.  
Had his father betrayed their people’s trust, leading them into their demise?  
There were so little of them left now.

Thranduil remembered how his father had decided to abandon their first capital of Amon Lanc when the first signs of the return of the Shadow appeared. How they had migrated further north to the western glens of the Emyn Duir near the Naugrim road leading to Moria.  
He shuddered at the thought how the shadow slowly at first had spread and turned his beloved Eryn Galen into Taur-e-Ndaedelos.

He remembered how his father had founded their new settlement Rhosgobel.  
Thranduil had very fond memories of the town. Here he had met his beautiful wife.

For a brief moment his eyes clouded as his thoughts were with his wife. Her memory still a fresh wound.  
If only he had known, he would have taken more time to be with her before leaving into that terrible war.

He was pulled out of his reverie by the stirring baby, who now changed his sleeping position on his chest. Looking down on the tiny elfling he smiled.  
“I promise I shall keep you safe, always, ion nîn.” He whispered and placed a soft kiss on the baby’s head.  
Looking down at his sleeping son a great sadness overcame him. His little leaf looked so much like his mother.  
The thoughts of his wife always pained him for he had not been there to protect her when she had needed him most.  
And - what weighted even heavier on his chest, he had not been present when his only child had been born.

He often wondered how she must have felt, coming out of childbirth only to find Rhosgobel besieged by the enemy. The survivors had told him how his wife had donned her armour and weapons, gathering what young unmarried woman around her to defend their town.  
They had been outnumbered from the start and he and the men had been miles away at the Dagorlad. A two weeks march between them and their hard pressed hometown.

The women warriors had had no chance against the wain-riders and orcs that swamped over the town. Handing over her newborn son to his nursemaid urging her to keep him safe, his wife had remained with the women warriors until their last stand.

When he and the warriors arrived two weeks later they only found charred remnants of what once had been their home.

A tear ran down his cheek and he lifted his hand to wipe.  
His people had been hiding in the surrounding woods waiting for his return or rather for his father’s. How their confusion had shown in their eyes on realisation that neither king nor the main body of their army would ever return.  
He had seen the doubt in their eyes if he could live up to the challenge.

With the enemies hordes still rampaging he had had not many options and therefore decided to find them a new home. This time they crossed over to the north eastern borders of the realm.  
Memories of Menegroth, king Thingol’s palace of the thousand caves, gave him the idea of the underground palace when he found a fitting place.

The works had just begun, the palace just taking shape. It was clear to him that this would never be as grand as Menegroth had been, but considering the small numbers of people he had left, all that was important and counted was to keep them and his own little family safe.  
He had seen the ‘noble’ elves wielding their rings of power during the Battle at the Dagorlad. Little good had those rings been of use.  
A simple man had cut the Dark One and banished him into his own shadow.

His own father had never possessed one of those rings. He sometimes wondered, if he had, would that have kept him and his people safe?  
Would such a ring have prevented his father from being killed? Or him from being away when his wife was in great duress?

There was a deep set doubt and yet at times he wished - Wished for more riches to help him to gain what was needed to keep his people safe.

He shook his head as if to shake off these thoughts.  
A noise in the room had him turn his head. There in the corner in the second cot was the little girl he had promised to see safe too.  
During the siege of Rhosgobel she had lost her entire family.  
Nobody seemed to be willing to take care of her. Not that he blamed them. He knew how hard the times had been on his little band of survivors.

Wrapping his arm around the warm little bundle on his chest, he lifted himself up. Slowly as not to wake his little ion he walked over to the second cot. The little girl had ridden herself of her cover and he bend over his arm firmly clasp around Legolas to reach and tuck the little one in.

He smiled. Those two were his responsibility - his family now. He would do all that was necessary to see them strive and grow up as carefree as possible. If he was lucky their childhood would resemble his own.  
Cared for by a loving father to keep them save, warm and fed. He would see to the education of both of them, he vowed.

Outside the birds started to sing, again he smiled.  
Yes, there were still birds here in the shelter of his kingdom. As long as he had strength he would keep it that way.  
He would fight the shadow and all the devilry of the outside world if he had to to keep this small paradise free from all evil for his family, his people to roam and live without care or fear.

Like his own father, he would be the father of them all, the elves, Sindar or Silvan, that dwelled under his protection. Never again should one of them perish by the hands or deeds of the evil outside his lands. He decided to protect his realm, like Melian in Doriath, by a ring defence, a shield. All he ever would ask of his people was to protect what was their own.

As long as he could maintain his peoples’ safety, they would endure.

The door opened and the nurse stepped inside the room, taking the sleeping infant out of the father’s arms.  
“You should rest, my lord. Have you been up all night?”  
He nodded, knowing that he must look the part. Only he didn’t cared.  
“Will he not cry again?” He asked.  
The nurse shook her head producing a root braided into a ring from her purse.  
“This will help him to find rest. He may chew on it as often as he like.” She said.  
“What is it made of?” He asked.  
“Birch wood, my lord. My husband makes these. He always takes extra care to make them smooth.”  
She then took out a beaded necklace and against Thranduil’s protestations placed it around Legolas’ neck.  
“You need not worry. He will not choke. These are special amber beads, my lord. I myself have used them on all my children when they were teething. The beads will ease the little one’s pain.”  
She could not say why or how but knew from experience that this worked.

Gently shoving the king out of the nursery, she ordered him to get some rest.  
“We all rely on you, my lord. Please make sure to keep your health. These two need you to be strong too.” She said pointing at the two children in their cots.  
He stifled a yawn but nodded. She was right. With a last glance upon the little girl and his own son he left for his rooms.  
Maybe now he could find some sleep, tired and exhausted as he was.


End file.
